How to Find Love in a Bookshop

by Veronica Henry

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “You’re a nice person, that’s for sure. You always were. People like you don’t change. Unless they get damaged by people like me. I hope you weren’t.”

  “Nobody as awful as you, no.” They smiled at each other.

  Mick raised his glass.

  “Well, here’s to old times’ sake. It’s very nice to see you.”

  “I suppose you were just bored in your hotel room?”

  He looked a bit taken aback. “No. I wanted to see you. I’ve very fond memories of our time.”

  June put down her glass. “You know I wrote a searing exposé,” she told him. “About how cruelly you treated me.”

  “Really?” He made a face. “It would be the perfect time to publish it. Everyone seems to be obsessed with my past at the moment.”

  “No. It’s staying firmly locked away. It was just a therapeutic exercise.”

  “Writing’s therapy, for sure. I was amazed what I dredged up when I did the book.”

  “So you’re trying to right wrongs now?”

  “Jesus, I haven’t enough time left on this earth to do that.” He roared with laughter. Then stopped and looked at her. “Just one wrong will do me for now.”

  She held his gaze. She wanted to laugh. He was incorrigible, even at this age.

  “June . . .”

  His voice was low and urgent. The invitation in his devilish blue eyes was unmistakable. She felt a thrill inside her. She reminded herself of the anguish he had caused her. Yet to turn him away would be boring. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been propositioned. She deserved some fun as much as the next person.

  And he hadn’t been selfish in the bedroom, that much she could remember. She felt her cheeks pinken slightly at the memory as she picked up her glass again. She was going to make him work for it. She leaned forward with a smile.

  “What are you suggesting, Mr. Gillespie?”

  —

  Jackson couldn’t settle that Sunday.

  Ian Mendip had called him to hassle him about the bookshop.

  “It doesn’t usually take you this long to get into a girl’s knickers,” he complained, and Jackson hung up on him. He’d blame the bad signal in Peasebrook.

  He walked over to his house. Mia was heading out on a twenty-mile bike ride as part of her triathlon training, and he’d offered to look after Finn. He didn’t see it as a chore—why would he?

  “Nice bike,” he said, as she made everything ready—gel packs and water bottles and repair kits.

  She looked at him. “It’s all I’ve got,” she said. “I don’t spend money on clothes.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Jackson, because he hadn’t. Why was she so defensive? Why did she make it so hard for him to be nice to her? He looked at her, in her ridiculous tight black Lycra and the helmet that made her look like an alien, and thought how vulnerable she looked. His heart gave a little stumble.

  “Good luck,” he said. “Call me if you get tired and need picking up.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said firmly.

  He leafed through the book Emilia had suggested he read with Finn. The Little Prince was a curious book, and a lot of it he found puzzling, yet it seemed to have all the wisdom in the world in its pages.

  He put the book down and leaned his head back. The story had helped him see the truth. He had been too young to love Mia properly. He had driven her away with his behavior. He could see that now. She didn’t trust him. Of course she didn’t. He’d been immature, and feckless, and selfish.

  He stared at the wall. He’d given up, he realized. He’d given up on his hopes, his dreams, his relationships. He’d become involved in something that made him hate himself more than he did already.

  He thought about Emilia in the shop, and how she’d chosen the book for him. He really admired her for what she was doing at the shop and hated the thought of Ian getting his hands on it. He didn’t want anything else to do with Ian’s plan. Nightingale Books was a force for good, and Mendip was a greedy monster. If Ian sacked him, then so be it.

  It was as if Jackson was in the bottom of a dark well, and there was a light at the top, and he had to climb up to it. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find when he got up there, but he felt sure things would be better.

  He took Finn out to the skate park, trying to make sense of the thoughts whirling round his head. Yet he knew he needed to make an effort, and that somewhere there was an answer. He didn’t just have to stumble along, doing things he didn’t want to, at the will of everyone else.

  Suddenly everything seemed so clear in his mind—what he wanted from life.

  He wanted the chance to be a good partner to the woman he loved and had never stopped loving. He was a good father, he knew that, but he wanted to be a father in a proper family, not a single dad kicking a football or standing in the skate park.

  What would she say? How could he convince her he had changed? He had no proof, except for the fact that he felt different. That someone—Emilia—had, without knowing, shown him the way. Mia would laugh if he tried to explain it.

  She would think he was trying it on, trying to get his feet back under the table, trying to get back into their lives because it suited him.

  He had to ask her. He had to man up and fight for what he wanted. He’d learned from his mistakes. For once, he actually wanted responsibility and security.

  He picked up a couple of pizzas from the corner shop on the way home. They scoffed them in the kitchen, not even stopping for plates, eating them right out of the cardboard boxes.

  Jackson was in the middle of tidying the kitchen when Mia got back from her ride. She looked exhausted.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she said brightly, and looked askance at the remains of the pizza, one eyebrow raised in disapproval of its fat and carb content.

  It was now or never, thought Jackson.

  “I miss you.”

  Mia blinked. “What?”

  “I miss you. I miss us. I don’t understand why I’m stuck in a caravan with my mum—much as I love her—and you’re obsessed with . . .” He waved a hand in the air. “Driving yourself into the ground with all that fitness and healthy eating.”

  She crossed her arms. She looked away. She looked as if she was going to cry.

  “We should have gone out today as a family,” he went on.

  “But we’re not a family anymore.”

  “Yes, we are. We always will be. Because of Finn. You’re his mum and I’m his dad and he’s our son.”

  “Don’t use Finn as a weapon, Jackson.” She walked away to put the kettle on, turning her back on him, and Jackson felt a lurch of disappointment. So much for being brave.

  “I’m not. I would never do that. I want what’s best for him, and you, and us.”

  “For you, you mean.” She glared at him. “You want what’s best for you. You always have.”

  Jackson flinched. Although he was used to Mia’s barbs, they never hurt any less. She was being even more defensive than usual, though.

  A sudden thought occurred to him.

  “Is there . . . someone else?” He imagined some sinewy cycling fanatic planning endless bike rides on a fitness app.

  She gave a bark of laughter. “No, of course there isn’t. I don’t want somebody else, Jackson. I’m trying to figure out who I am, after everything you put me through. Build a new life.”

  Without him in it. That much was clear.

  “Can’t we build it together? I’m trying to change, too. I’ve got plans and dreams. And I want you to be part of them. I want to make life better for us all. You, me, and Finn.”

  Mia looked at him.

  “You’ve always talked a good talk, Jackson.”

  “It’s not just talk, th
ough.”

  Mia looked fierce.

  “Forget it, okay? It’s not happening. Stop putting me under pressure, Jackson. It’s not fair.”

  He knew when Mia had reached her limit. He didn’t want a scene.

  He nodded. “Okay . . .” He walked out of the kitchen and went to find Finn, who was playing on his Wii in the lounge.

  “See you soon, mate.” He hugged his son to him. As long as he had Finn, that was all that mattered. If Mia couldn’t find it in her heart to forgive him for his transgressions, that was fair enough. But he was still Finn’s dad. She couldn’t take that away from him.

  He walked back to the kitchen to say a final good-bye. Mia looked up, startled and guilty. She was eating a piece of their cold pizza as if it were the last slice of pizza on earth.

  “Bye,” said Jackson, resisting the urge to say something cutting. Because he didn’t feel bitter. He just felt sad. But he thought perhaps the pizza showed a chink.

  18

  Two weeks later, Thomasina and Lauren were tucked away in the kitchen at A Deux. Lauren was putting the finishing touches on a chicken and pear tagine, chopping almonds and coriander to scatter on the couscous.

  “You mark my words—this is a crisis dinner,” Lauren whispered. “This is the last resort. It’s written all over them.”

  Thomasina, who was cutting out lavender biscuits to go with the panna cotta, nudged her to be quiet. Discretion was the watchword at A Deux.

  She’d had masses of inquiries since doing the canapés at Nightingale Books, and it was almost getting to the point when she might have to give up the day job, though she probably never would. A Deux was booked up every weekend until Christmas, and some weeknights, and Thomasina had grown in confidence. She and Lauren had become quite a team. Seeing Lauren blossom and flourish under her tuition had been incredibly rewarding. That was the joy of teaching: inspiring someone, giving them a purpose. Lauren was a different girl. She was focused, conscientious, full of initiative. If Thomasina hadn’t seen her potential and tapped into it, she would probably have been expelled from school by now, on a one-way ticket to nowhere.

  It was great to be busy, because it took her mind off Jem and how what she had thought might be something had turned to nothing. She’d thought there was a spark, but . . .

  So she jumped a mile when Lauren mentioned him.

  “Hey—you know that bloke in the cheese shop?”

  Thomasina didn’t have the guile to pretend she didn’t know whom Lauren was talking about.

  “What about him?” Her voice came out in a squeak.

  “He was asking about you. He wanted to know why you don’t come in anymore.” Lauren nudged Thomasina with her elbow. “He so fancies you.”

  “He does not.”

  “He told me to tell you hello.”

  “Did he?” Thomasina colored and couldn’t help smiling. “Did he really or are you just winding me up?”

  “Why would I want to wind you up?”

  Thomasina couldn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. Lauren wouldn’t have made it up, surely, but was Jem just being polite? She held the information in her heart, turning it over every now and again, a little nugget of hope.

  —

  In the dining room, Bill sighed, and looked down into his Jerusalem artichoke soup, as if the answer might lie in the swirl of cream on the top.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

  “It’s just what?”

  “I think I’m going mad.”

  He looked up, and Bea saw a bleakness in his eyes that scared her.

  “What do you mean?” Bea crumbled up some of Thomasina’s walnut bread in her fingers.

  “I understand it’s been hard for you. Giving up your old life and starting anew. But I’d give anything to be in your position.”

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t think I can carry on.”

  “What do you mean?” Bea panicked. “With what? Do you mean us?”

  Oh God. He was asking for a divorce. She’d bored him into wanting a divorce, with her “wittering.”

  “No! Of course not. I mean this way of life.”

  Bea took a gulp of wine. Then another. They were walking, so they didn’t need to have the “Who is going to drive?” conversation.

  “I hate it. I hate leaving you and Maud. It’s bloody exhausting, getting up at stupid o’clock and going to catch the train. By the time I’m back home, I’m too knackered to have a conversation or enjoy my food, and the weekends go in a flash. By the time I’ve had a lie-in to get over the fact I’ve hardly had any sleep, it’s Sunday. And from midday on Sunday my stomach is in a knot, dreading Monday morning.”

  “I had no idea you felt like this.”

  “I thought it was going to get easier. But I just want a normal life, Bea. I love it here in Peasebrook. I want to be a normal bloke. Join the darts team in the pub. Muck about in the garden. Enjoy my family. Maud looks at me sometimes as if I’m someone she thinks she should recognize but isn’t quite sure . . .”

  He rubbed his face, and Bea suddenly saw how terrible he looked. Haggard and red-eyed. She’d put it down to too much red wine.

  He looked over at her.

  “I don’t want to be a highflier anymore. I don’t want to be part of the commuter club, an absentee husband and father.”

  Bea fiddled with the knife and fork on either side of her bowl. She had lost her appetite all of a sudden and couldn’t finish her soup.

  “What do we do about it?” she asked, her voice very small. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea . . .”

  “I don’t know, Bea. But I can’t carry on. If I’m not careful, I’m going to get sacked. I’m tired and I’m stressed and I’m resentful and I’m making mistakes and being a pain in the arse to work with.”

  Bea reached out a hand and put it on top of Bill’s.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been stuck in my own little world, trying to play the perfect wife and mother. And to be honest, I haven’t been that happy, either. It’s as if we’ve both been forced into a way of life we don’t want, in order to sustain this fantasy lifestyle.”

  “Exactly,” said Bill. “I know you’re bored. I know you adore Maud, but I can see you trying to find ways to get through the day.”

  “Hand-washing cashmere cardigans just isn’t doing it for me.” Bea managed a laugh. “Not even when I get to hang them on the line with fancy artisanal wooden clothes-pegs.”

  She had a mental image of herself, a veritable layout from Hearth magazine. But she wasn’t going to be defeated by this. Bea was a strategist. She always had a plan.

  “What about if we do a swap?” she said.

  Bill raised his eyebrows.

  “Swap?”

  “I could go back to work. I get people calling me all the time offering me jobs I really, really don’t want to turn down. I would love to go back and be a proper grown-up in London. And you could hang out here with Maud.”

  “Be a househusband?” Bill frowned. “I’m not sure about that.”

  Bea wrinkled her nose. “No! You can do some freelance work from home while Maud’s at nursery. Though you would have to do a bit of house stuff—get food in, put the washing on every now and again. But it’s not hard, Bill. Why do you think I’m so bored? I think you’re way better suited to this country life than me. I’m just not that into making jam and arranging flowers. But I think you’d really like the gardening and the log cutting and pottering off to the pub.”

  “Do you really think it could work?” asked Bill. “I’ve got loads of people who want me to do consultancy for them.”

  “Yes!”

  “You’d have to be the breadwinner. You won’t mind the commute?”

  “No! I am soooo jealous whenever you head off for that train.”

  “Reall
y? You’re welcome to it.”

  “It will take a bit of time for me to find the right job. But I think it’s a great solution. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to move back to London. I think here is perfect, and right for Maud.”

  Bill looked as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.

  “I’d love that, Bea. I feel as if life’s whizzing past, and I don’t have time to enjoy the things I want to enjoy, and any minute now Maud will be sixteen. I want to slow down. I know I’m only just forty, but I don’t want to spend the next ten years slogging my guts out. And if it means cutting back on crap that doesn’t matter—”

  “Like hundred-quid candles?”

  He caught it. “Yes!”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal, mister.”

  Bea shook hands with her husband over the table.

  As Lauren brought out the tagine, Bea sat back in her chair with a sigh of relief. She had been terrified Bill was going to give her some ultimatum. Or tell her he’d found someone else. The thing was, Bea quite liked playing at country mouse, but really, she was a town mouse through and through. It would all be here on the weekends, the trugs and the Peter Rabbit carrots and the eggs still covered in chicken shit.

  And this time, when they got back home, after the two bottles of ruinously expensive wine they’d drunk to celebrate their decision, Bill was still awake when she came out of the bathroom in her Coco de Mer. Wide awake.

  19

  It was Sunday, and Emilia had given herself the day off. She’d been working flat out, and Dave was happy to run the shop for the day.

  Marlowe had offered to give her a cello lesson, to get her up to speed on the pieces she was unfamiliar with and to practice the Handel. Of all the ones she had to get right, that was the most important since it heralded Alice’s entrance at the wedding.

  “It’s renowned for being a bitch of a piece for the cello,” he told her on the phone, “but we’ll nail it, don’t worry.”

  It was one of those autumn days that take you by surprise. Although there was a sharpness in the air on waking, warm sunshine and a cloudless sky belied the season. Emilia looked through the new clothes Andrea had made her buy, chose a yellow dress and a pale green cardigan. She remembered to pack up the jumper Marlowe had left. She put it in a carrier bag and drove to his house, a tiny Victorian lodge on the outskirts of Peasebrook. It was like a cottage out of a fairy tale, all pointy windows with a gabled roof and an arched front door.